


They Won't See Me Run

by atardisonacloud



Category: Graceland (TV)
Genre: Gen, warning for talk of alcoholism, warning for talk of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atardisonacloud/pseuds/atardisonacloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd attempted to cancel the trip to his grandfather's home in Virginia that weekend but had come up with no good excuse. He had also come up with no good excuse for why he had a black eye. He'd thought that saying he'd gotten hit with a baseball was a good excuse until his grandfather had pointed out that Mike's reflexes were far too good for that. Besides, lying made him uncomfortable, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Won't See Me Run

**Author's Note:**

> This little character study is based on a few details of Mike's backstory that can be found by playing the little game on the Graceland website.

Saying that his father was abusive was overstating it by a large margin. Ninety percent of the time, Mike Warren's father was a fantastic parent and a good husband to Mike's mother. Mike knew his father worked very, _very_ hard to keep him in the private schools that he attended even though they couldn't really afford it. He'd never cheated or disappeared for a few weeks. He'd even done some of the 'good dad' things like being the one to teach Mike how to ride a bicycle and how to throw a baseball. Mike had never once considered himself an abused child.

The only issue that ever came up was when his father drank, which as of late was once every two weeks or so. If Mike could smell alcohol fumes drifting from the living room when he got home from school (generally in the late evening as he was in roughly half of the extracurriculars that his high school offered- half because he enjoyed them, half for his college resume), he knew to quietly walk upstairs to his bedroom and do his homework without causing any trouble. Normally when he pulled this off, all was fine and his dad would be back to his normal self come morning- albeit hungover.

The first time he could remember not pulling off hiding in his bedroom was when he was seven years old and had ventured back out of his room when he heard his parents fighting downstairs. Stupidly bravely, he'd attempted to stick up for his mother and tried to step between them and reason with his father, not understanding that it wouldn't work. He couldn't remember the words anymore, just the sentiment- that Mike was a selfish brat who was completely ungrateful for the sacrifices his father had made for his sake. Mike's father hadn't hit him that time, but he'd still run off and hid under the bed until eventually his mother came for him and told him it would all be okay and that his father was sorry. 

Mike could count the number of times his father's knuckles had left bruises on his face with one hand, but those instances were becoming more frequent and he was pretty sure that he would need both hands by the time he graduated from high school. Mike was sixteen and still gangly, but now as tall as his father was which apparently made him an acceptable target to his father's drunken rages. He'd attempted to cancel the trip to his grandfather's home in Virginia that weekend but had come up with no good excuse. He had also come up with no good excuse for why he had a black eye. He'd  _thought_ that saying he'd gotten hit with a baseball was a good excuse until his grandfather had pointed out that Mike's reflexes were far too good for that.

Besides, lying made him uncomfortable, anyway.

So the story had all come out, with Mike explaining that he'd been late coming home and hadn't refilled the car with gasoline before parking it in the driveway so it was really his own fault that his father had gotten so angry. His grandfather had made it clear that it was  _not_ his fault and the next morning had a very strange gift for his grandson.

A gun.

Mike had protested at first saying he didn't need it and didn't want one- he didn't need that sort of protection from his father, it wasn't that bad. When his grandfather had told him it was so he could protect his mother as well, he'd somewhat come around to it and when he'd mentioned that if Mike really did want to be an FBI agent when he was an adult, he would need to know how to use a gun, anyway. 

So Mike had studied it- read about the proper usage and maintnance of a handgun, the legality of it (hint: it is very illegal for a sixteen year old to have a handgun) and tips and tricks on proper aim and ways to increase gun control. And then he'd lined up a bunch of old cans in the large empty field behind his grandfather's house and practiced. The first few shots were wild but by the end of his little session he was successfully hitting his targets. He was still uncomfortable at the prospect of ever using a gun on someone rather than slaying a bunch of aluminum cans, especially if that someone had to be his father.

About ten years later when he had graduated from the FBI academy with flying colors, he was still uncomfortable at that prospect.


End file.
